


sift through the hourglass

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Femslash February, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Removal of Crests, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: Edelgard and Lysithea throughout the seasons.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 90
Collections: FE Femslash February 2020





	sift through the hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 23 of fe femslash february: time!
> 
> title is from the hush sound's "hourglass." enjoy!

**i.**

Spring is in full bloom, and Edelgard wishes she could enjoy it.

As it is, though, she finds herself so busy that she cannot spare any time for the flowers blooming or newborn birds singing all across Enbarr, life sprouting up in the wake of destruction—theirs and their enemies’ alike. The most she gets are brief moments of fresh air while patrolling Fódlan and glimpses of the palace grounds through the windows of meeting rooms.

Now, she’s taking full advantage of the latter. Lord Gerth has been droning on about how ineffectual all of her ideas are for close to thirty minutes now. Were Hubert here, he’d have shut him up long ago, but he’s away on a top-secret mission making good of the intel the Vestra spy network has gathered, leaving Edelgard only to ignore the rant along with, she’s sure, everyone else in the room.

Distracted, she gazes out the window. Birdsong echoes in the distance. Bright pink petals from the cherry blossom tree planted outside, old and towering, are flowing in the wind. Edelgard’s nose tickles at the sight, but she manages to tamp down on a sneeze just in time to seize a pause in Gerth’s rant and slam her hands on the table.

“That,” she declares, “shall be enough. Lord Gerth, please report to me this evening—eighteen-hundred hours sharp. I have some things I would like to discuss with you in private.” His swallow is audible from across the room. The slightest hint of a smile curves across Edelgard’s face as she continues, “Meeting adjourned.”

Edelgard leaves before everyone else. She’s rounding the corner, scarlet cape sweeping after her and set shoulders hopefully giving an impression of strength, when she comes upon something she doesn’t expect: A collapsed human form.

Her heartbeat jumps, but as Edelgard approaches, the loud steps of her boots more hesitant, a sense of familiarity overwhelms her. She takes the figure in. A sheet of stark white hair is draped over a pair of hunched shoulders, shorter than it had once been but still long and sleek yet brittle. Bony sides heave for breath as a gloved hand clutches a nearby statue for support.

“Lysithea?”

The figure straightens, revealing herself as—indeed—Lysithea, face red with exertion and overall appearance even more harried than had been visible at first glance. Edelgard makes a slow approach as though walking up to a skittish deer.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, dandy,” bites out Lysithea. “As you can quite clearly see, Your Majesty, I am the paragon of _all right_.”

Edelgard ignores the sarcasm. Though it’s often softer around Edelgard, Lysithea’s acidic tongue only grows harsher when she’s under stress. “Here, let me help you to the infirmary.”

“I’m not in need of any assistance,” says Lysithea, eyes flashing with determination. She attempts to hoist herself to her feet, Edelgard respectfully holding back, but slips before she’s able to stand on her own. Lysithea’s head lowers so her hair falls into her face. Sounding out-of-breath and pained by her very words, she says, “On second thought—”

Edelgard hurries over at once, hoisting Lysithea—who she now sees is biting her lip, swallowing the surrender of her pride that Edelgard will keep her from having to deliver—to her feet and supporting her weight. Lysithea is taller than she is, if not by much, but much frailer. It takes little to no effort to sling one of her thin arms around Edelgard’s broader shoulders. Edelgard suspects she could even sweep Lysithea into a bridal carry, but she’ll spare her any further embarrassment.

“You know how to cast a warp spell, correct?”

“I… do.” A pause, in which Edelgard waits for Lysithea to cast it—nothing happens, however, not the sudden sensation of her body dematerializing and rematerializing in a different location like she’s used to with Hubert; not even a slight relinquishing of her grasp. “In my—current physical state, however, I find that I’m incapable of doing so.”

“Ah,” says Edelgard, wishing she’d had the foresight to cut off Lysithea’s flustered confession once more. “Walking should work fine, then.”

Lysithea is silent as Edelgard helps her through the halls. While her knowledge of the palace is somewhat limited by the years she’d spent away from it, Edelgard has reacquainted herself enough in the time since to know secret passageways and open hallways no one passes through, so she makes sure to stay out of anyone’s view.

The infirmary is only two floors below them. As she guides Lysithea down the stairs, Edelgard is more careful than ever. Lysithea’s blunt nails dig into Edelgard’s shoulder through her gloves. Edelgard would do anything to soothe her, but she doubts any kind words or gestures will help any more so than her presence.

The healers on duty are occupied with another patient at the time being, and Edelgard turns down one’s offer to help them out. “She simply needs to rest,” she tells them, and they nod.

She helps Lysithea onto a cot and pulls the screen shut. Lysithea, still panting despite how slow their pace had been, spares her a grateful nod. Edelgard waits for another nod of encouragement before she takes a seat beside Lysithea—she’s not spent much time in the infirmary, preferring one of her allies’ warm healing over the formal magic of a hired healer, and the clinical air makes her feel somewhat faint. She’ll leave soon enough, but not without making sure Lysithea is okay.

Her arm presses against Lysithea’s. “Let me ask again,” she says once Lysithea has caught her breath. “Are you all right?”

Lysithea takes a moment to respond, hunched forward with her arms tightly crossed over her torso. “I will be.” She lifts her head, perhaps sensing the intensity of Edelgard’s narrowed eyes upon her. “I promise.”

“I trust that you will,” says Edelgard, not forcing Lysithea to hold eye contact—she’s not great at maintaining it herself—but keeping her own eyes on Lysithea. “You’re very strong, Lysithea, but you’re not infallible. Please, for your sake and the Empire’s alike, take care of yourself. And so long as you’re here—” she gestures to the infirmary “—make sure to ask the nurses if you need anything.”

Chewing her lip, which Edelgard notes is already covered in dry, scaled-over skin, Lysithea nods.

Edelgard stands. As she does, she catches another glimpse of the cherry blossom tree outside, this time from a different angle. Its petals stir a wistful, nostalgic feeling deep within her.

“Perhaps once you recover,” she says, slow, “we could view the gardens together. They’re lovely this time of year, and I would appreciate the chance to unwind, especially with you by my side, Lysithea. I’ve grown to rather enjoy your company.” She coughs. “We could have tea.”

Lysithea looks up with surprise for a moment—and then she smiles, bright enough that Edelgard feels as light as the petals floating through the air outside. “I would enjoy that. It’s, as they say, a date.”

“As they say,” repeats Edelgard under her breath. She shakes her head. “I wish you a speedy recovery. Send a messenger if you need anything.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your important meetings,” says Lysithea, on the terse side.

“Please, Lysithea—I’m almost begging you to.”

That gets a wider smile, and Lysithea shrugs. “I’m sure I won’t need anything,” she says, though there’s enough of a hint of hesitation in her tone that Edelgard raises an eyebrow. “…However, if I find myself in the habit of changing my mind, I shall inform you at my earliest convenience, okay?”

“Excellent,” says Edelgard before turning to go.

“Hey, Edelgard.” She looks back. Lysithea lowers her head and mumbles, “Thank you for your help.”

Edelgard smiles as she steps out.

**ii.**

The warm breeze of summer blows through the courtyard as Lysithea raises her cup to her lips, inhaling the sweet scent. Her hat—a generous gift from Bernadetta—blocks out some of the suffocating heat and light from the sun. Across from her, Edelgard is not so lucky, even lacking her heavy horned headpiece in this casual setting, but she seems unconcerned, perhaps due to her more casual robes and the way her hair is tied up. The ponytail stirs with the wind, but the loose strands don’t seem to bother Edelgard.

It had taken them a few years, but they had been able to have tea by the gardens after all. This time of year, most of the flowers tended to by Edelgard herself are vividly blooming, though right now, Lysithea is less interested in them than her tea. Edelgard is having her usual bergamot; she’d made a separate brew of sweet-apple blend for Lysithea, which tickles Lysithea more than she would care to admit.

They’ve been sitting in companionable silence for at least ten minutes, threads of conversation giving way to natural tranquility. Lysithea, cheek propped up on her fist, is observing Edelgard when something occurs to her.

“Hey, won’t it be your birthday soon? What are you planning on doing for it?”

“I haven’t decided,” says Edelgard, looking down with sudden melancholy. Lysithea recognizes that look—that of someone who, ten or even two years back, hadn’t thought they would live past a certain age, let alone be fast approaching thirty. “I expect Hubert will put something suitably elegant together.”

Lysithea can’t imagine Hubert planning a party. Caspar, Dorothea, and Ferdinand, though—the three of them combined could talk him into about anything. She gives an undignified snort into her tea at the thought. “Well, I’ll bake you a cake.”

Edelgard laughs. Before Lysithea can read it as a sharp dismissal, she adds, eyes still on her tea, “I’ll look forward to it. Your baking is—well, not quite better than that of the kitchen staff, technically speaking,” she says with another small chuckle, “but the passion and affection you put into it makes it much more personal, which I quite enjoy.”

The gentle yet confident praise makes Lysithea’s hands shake. She is used to being complimented for all sorts of things that she doesn’t take particular stock in: Her magical and intellectual talents, the maturity she’d forced herself to adopt. But Edelgard sees past all of that. She sees Lysithea as she is, as she wants to be seen. She understands the hard work and care Lysithea pours into every bit of her life instead of relying on innate talent to carry her through.

“Thank you,” says Lysithea into this tea. “I’ll see to it that this cake is my absolute best work, then.”

“I look forward to it. Why don’t you have another pastry?”

Cheeks aflame (it’s humid out, all right?), Lysithea obeys. They really are delicious—Edelgard’s kitchen staff is the cream of the crop, especially when it comes to baking, even with Edelgard and Lysithea’s occasional interference with the sweets to make them even more sugary. Edelgard isn’t the greatest baker, but she’s been getting better under Lysithea’s tutelage. Lysithea often daydreams about them making cakes together. What events those cakes tend to be for is a secret that will stay within her mind forever unless her daydreams come true someday.

Though she’s certain they won’t. Lysithea feels herself frown even as she bites into the soft pastry in her hand, its crunchy toppings and rich chocolate filling not even serving to dismiss her sudden sense of impending doom.

“You’re very serious today,” notes Edelgard. “Perhaps even stoic. Is there any particular reason why?”

Once she’s swallowed, Lysithea lowers her voice. “We may not have many more moments like these, so I’m trying my best to savor it.”

Edelgard sets her cup back on her plate with a _click_ so sharp Lysithea winces. She assumes that will be the end of things—Edelgard will lightly chastise her for her crudeness before making the excuse of more work to be done and leaving.

That isn’t what happens. Instead, Edelgard takes a deep breath, folds her hands on the table before her, and speaks again:

“Linhardt and I have been talking recently.” Her voice is as low as Lysithea’s had been, though with those who slither in the dark assuredly gone, there can’t be many prying ears about; no point in keeping their voices down in like company. Lysithea finds herself leaning closer to chase the odd intimacy of it anyway. “He thinks he may have devised a procedure that will be able to remove Crests.”

Lysithea had made the mistake of reaching for her tea to occupy her hands. Her hand slips on the handle, spilling now-tepid tea all across her plate, dripping onto the tablecloth and trailing down toward the grass from there. With a muttered swear, Lysithea uses her sleeves to mop it up. She lifts her head to meet Edelgard’s eyes, words trapped in her dry throat, tongue all gummed up.

“It’s very experimental so far,” says Edelgard, calmingly raising her hands. “He still needs to finalize everything. But—”

“But it’s Linhardt. So more likely than not, it’ll work.”

With a slow smile, Edelgard nods. And Lysithea—Lysithea just sits there and shakes. She almost wants to cry, a vague sting in her tear ducts, but nothing spills loose save for her tea, now clinging to the ends of her sleeves.

“And when it works?” she prompts, because Edelgard wouldn’t speak of it so soon, getting her hopes up before the procedure is finalized, if there weren’t something beyond it worth mentioning.

Edelgard takes another deep breath. “I know you’ve been—hesitant,” she says, “to accept courtship proposals and other such advances due to your shortened lifespan.”

“Well—” Lysithea flushes. That had been her excuse, true, both to anyone who suggested such things to her or asked about them later on, and it has made her uncomfortable to engage in such relationships, also true, but the real reason—

“And that is why I am asking now, Lysithea—” and Lysithea freezes, because she can’t be asking what Lysithea thinks she’s asking, can she? “—if you would do me the honor of allowing me to court you.” _Oh, she can._ And she’s still talking. “Though we haven’t been close until recently, I have grown quite fond of you over time, and now that the years robbed from us will be returned—”

“I—yes!” blurts Lysithea, standing so fast she almost knocks over her emptied teacup again. Edelgard blinks at her exuberance. “I—I apologize. You may deliver what appears to be a very well-planned speech to me some other time. But—” Now flustered, Lysithea regains her seat and her dignity with a clear of her throat. “I would be honored to accept your request, Edelgard.”

Across the table, Edelgard smiles. Lysithea pours out some more tea and takes an embarrassingly long sip of it.

She almost chokes when Edelgard reaches over to take her hand, skin cold despite the heat in the air, touch fleeting but confident and uncaring of the thinness of Lysithea’s skin, the inky scars left by her magic. Once Lysithea recovers, she meets Edelgard’s eyes—tentative but determined, Edelgard holds her gaze. She starts to lean back, but Lysithea shakes her head. Physical contact is not an easy thing for her, not so much out of lack of desire but more so lack of time to even think of it (and frustration that it once often came in the form of patronizing head-pats and the like). But this is—

It’s nice. Really nice. A flush fills Lysithea’s cheeks, one that she’ll blame on the weather if asked, and a smile spreads across her lips.

She sets her tea down and sets her free hand atop Edelgard’s, swathing Edelgard’s palm in the warmth of hers. Edelgard’s face about lights up at that, though she quickly takes a sip of tea and changes the subject.

Overhead, a pair of eagles take flight.

**iii.**

Leaves stir beneath her slippers as Edelgard slips into the garden, cane at her side but eyes and ears sharp. She is older now than she ever thought she would be, and she will grow older still.

She takes a long breath, basking in the autumn air. She’s always liked the brisk but damp feel of it, the crisp chill against her arms—not bare now, but cloaked in thin enough sleeves to make her shiver. Her movements are slow and hesitant. Frailty, thy name is not Edelgard; yet, weakened as she is at the moment, it may as well be. She feels a bit embarrassed, struggling to stand here alone less than forty feet from the bedroom of their “vacation home” (it had been a safe house for years but never seen any real use until now), but Edelgard steels herself.

She’s been recovering more quickly than expected, the lingering effects of her two Crests expediting things somewhat. One final blessing—though not enough to allow her to regain her previous physical strength right off the bat.

Though she’s thinking of herself as standing in the garden, calling it a “garden” to begin with isn’t quite accurate. “Garden” would imply any sort of effort on their behalf had been placed into growing the now-wilting flowers springing up from the otherwise barren earth. Edelgard had been surprised to find them here when they’d first looked around the building, but she isn’t complaining. Were she in better physical shape, she’d kneel to closer inspect them.

As she is, she glances over her shoulder before stepping closer. She’s at least used to using a cane, so it follows the movement of her leg easily enough—she would never hear the end of it if she were to sneak out here and then trip.

Though she may not hear the end of it anyway, she realizes when she hears footsteps coming from the direction of the house.

“Edelgard!” she hears behind her, familiar voice stirring a smile despite the frustration in it. “You’re supposed to be resting. Unless the word has drastically changed definitions since I last checked, this is not resting.”

When Edelgard tilts her head back, she can see Lysithea standing in the distance, panting as she struggles to catch up with Edelgard. Her physical strength, Edelgard is somewhat certain, won’t be restored by the procedure that had temporarily taken Edelgard’s. But there would be no knowing until they tried. And now that Edelgard is standing here, weary but strong-willed as ever, emboldened by the touches of brown at the roots of her hair, they _can_ try.

Gripping her cane tighter, Edelgard chuckles. “I apologize. I simply wanted to see the flowers one last time before they wilted.”

She can’t put it into words clearer than that—the yearning within her to stand at summer’s deathbed and behold the state of the leaves mid-transformation almost as if watching time itself pass is something she can’t express. But Lysithea’s eyes widen with understanding.

She comes to stand at Edelgard’s side. Her arm brushes hers. She’s gone without her cane, Edelgard notices; either Lysithea had forgone it for this short trip or her pain isn’t enough this early in the morning to require its use. Edelgard offers her arm in support. Though it’s no indication of the state of Lysithea’s body, she links her arm through Edelgard’s without pause.

“They are quite beautiful,” says Lysithea, thoughtful. “Wildflowers… I’ve not observed them so scrupulously before, but their resilience is admirable, wouldn’t you say? They’re able to flourish without conscious human intervention.”

“My thoughts precisely. Though I can’t say I wouldn’t mind having a plot of carnations here as well.”

“And lilies, right?”

Edelgard huffs out a laugh. “And here I thought you were here to scold me for sneaking out to observe the flowers,” she says, on the side of chiding.

Lysithea bares her teeth in a sheepish smile. “I suppose your sentiments influenced me, as they’re wont to do.” She bumps her side against Edelgard’s, not enough to knock her off her feet but enough to jostle her somewhat. “Still, you’ll catch cold if we linger. After everything you’ve gone through, dying of such a common illness doesn’t seem right.”

“I wouldn’t _die_ of it,” says Edelgard, dry but attempting to soothe the genuine worries she can see in Lysithea’s eyes. She tightens their connected arms. “I don’t plan of dying of anything soon. I’ve much left to do in the world.”

Shoulders drooping with relief, Lysithea sighs. “Good. I do too, you know,” she says, staring forward with those sparks of determination Edelgard so adores. Then she turns to glare. “But really, you’re going to get sick if we stay out here much longer. Come inside, my love.”

“I will, I will.”

They stand there a moment longer. This could be eternity, as far as Edelgard is concerned. She will never attain it, for no one can, but if it was this—if eternity meant two people standing in an accidental garden with autumn’s delicate hand beginning to run along its leaves, holding each other up and basking in the beauty before them and the love within—she would strive to achieve it and hold onto it with everything she has.

In the end, though, nothing is eternal, and neither is this moment. Lysithea tugs on Edelgard’s sleeve and gives her an exasperated look with a fond smile cracking through. Tears are brimming at the corners of her eyes. Edelgard presumes Lysithea wouldn’t want her to bring it up, so she only smiles back.

She spares one more longing look for the half-dead flowers. They will be back next year—and so shall she. She will be here next spring, and the next, and more than she could have dreamed of after that.

Leaning on her cane and her wife in equal measure, Edelgard goes inside.

**iv.**

A storm is raging outside the house, wind and snow waging a war unlike any other against the reinforced walls, but inside, the crackling hearth provides all of the warmth its inhabitants could ever need.

Lit by the glow of the fire, Lysithea is reading. Edelgard had been at one point too, but her head is now resting against Lysithea’s shoulder as she dozes off. (Rests her eyes, she’ll insist when she wakes, like Lysithea can’t tell when she’s asleep.) Lysithea tips her head against Edelgard’s the slightest bit as she continues reading.

Her mind wanders off the page, though. Out here, they’re all but cut off from society—as Edelgard had wished for—but she can’t help but wonder how Enbarr is faring in their absence.

As far as the crimson-soaked pages of history are concerned, the two of them may as well have died. But even without her innate death sentence, Edelgard had wished to disappear quietly, passing on her life’s work to a successor she could be certain would carry on the torch of her legacy. Status had never meant much to Lysithea, who had declined her title and let House Ordelia become a relic of the past, so it seemed only natural to follow.

They had left Fódlan in good hands, and now they’re free to live out the long lives they had never planned for in youth. Lysithea’s longevity still feels strange. She had spent so much of her life fixated on it—on doing as much as she could before the hourglass of her life, already pushed to its limit, ran out—that having the time she _should_ have had almost feels as wrong as losing it to begin with. She’s sure Edelgard feels a similar way, but they’ve never had an in-depth conversation about it, perhaps thinking it a mutual understanding unnecessary to voice.

Sitting in peaceful silence has never suited Lysithea well; she’s always wanted to move as much as possible, to accomplish as many things as she could. She thinks she could grow used to moments like these, though, the sheer warmth replacing her need for productivity.

Lysithea runs her hands through Edelgard’s brown hair, already graying again—not with the strain of experimentation but age. The unexpected grace of it has already embraced Edelgard. Aside from her hair, her hands are growing wrinkled and her face even more so, deep grooves cast beneath her eyes and lines forming beside her mouth and above her eyebrows, marks of the frown that had occupied many of her younger years. But there are just as many tiny feet around her eyes to signify the smiles she’s worn. Complicated wrinkles for a complicated woman.

In sleep, the wrinkles don’t quite soften out, but they add to rather than mar Edelgard’s quiet beauty. With her brow smoothed peacefully, they give her the appearance of a kind grandmother.

Lysithea wonders if that’s what the town nearest their new home, which they pop into every now and then to stock up on supplies (there’s a small but lavish bakery they frequent), thinks they are: A pair of grandmothers relocating to the obscure countryside. She wouldn’t mind that interpretation, she thinks. Her own gnarled hands and harsher scowl than Edelgard’s fit the bill well enough.

As Lysithea is observing her wife, book abandoned by now, Edelgard’s eyes flutter open. Lysithea presses a kiss to the side of her head, both welcoming and teasing.

“Did you have a good nap?”

“I was resting my eyes,” says Edelgard, voice still rough with sleep, cut off by a yawn. She glares when Lysithea giggles, but there’s no real heat to it. “Yes, though, it was quite nice. How has reading been?” She nods toward Lysithea’s book.

“Er,” says Lysithea, caught. “Fine, but I think it would be pertinent to take a break for the night. My eyes are beginning to hurt.”

Edelgard hums. “And where are your reading glasses?”

“The bedroom.” Lysithea sighs, snapping her book shut without bothering to track down a bookmark—she’ll remember the page number. And backtrack a fair amount when she realizes she hadn’t been paying attention to the last ten pages she’d flipped through. Something occurs to her. “Was that meant to be a mere reprimand or a suggestion?”

“Take it as you will—but perhaps sitting on the floor like this wasn’t our wisest decision.”

Lysithea winces. “Indeed. I’ll be aching for weeks. We should relocate,” she says, setting her book down.

With a soft laugh, Edelgard gets up. Before Lysithea can miss the added warmth against her side too much, Edelgard helps her up, their old bones both creaking. There are some things Lysithea doesn’t like about aging—though the dull pain in her joints and muscles is something she’s had since she was an adolescent, so that, at least, she knows how to cope with. She and Edelgard hold each other up. Edelgard pops her back with a good _crack_.

“Oh, that was such a disturbing yet satisfying sound.”

“Wasn’t it?” says Edelgard, all but beaming. She wraps her arm around Lysithea and cups her shoulder to gently massage out some of the discomfort. Lysithea sighs and leans further into her. “I’m afraid I haven’t the energy to spare for a full massage, but I hope this eases some of your pain for the time being.”

“It does, thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Still rubbing gentle circles into Lysithea’s arm, Edelgard walks them down the hall, Lysithea more leaning on her for support than them helping each other in equal measure now. Sitting in that position really _would_ have her aching for days, though perhaps no more than usual. But she manages to hobble back to their room with Edelgard’s assistance.

“Ready to sleep now?” she asks as she sinks back into bed.

Edelgard joins her, smiling. “According to you, I already have been,” she says, following it up with a yawn; Lysithea can’t tell if it strengthens or weakens her argument. “But yes, I am.”

Their hands intertwine at their sides, almost by second nature. Lysithea presses her head against Edelgard’s shoulder once more.

“I’m glad,” she says, little more than a whisper, “that I’ve still time left to spend with you.”

Edelgard says nothing in response, but her fingers tighten on Lysithea’s, a promise and an affirmation. Lysithea is smiling as she drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


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